


Our Brave Heroes Unveil a Dastardly Felon

by Icarus_Isambard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Cackled While Writing This, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, One Shot, Parody, Purple Prose, Video Game Mechanics, Yes that was probably deliberate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 09:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus_Isambard/pseuds/Icarus_Isambard
Summary: This one-shot started as an exercise in excessive purple prose that got hilariously out of hand. Someone stole Alistair's helmet! Who? Pokes fun of those "The [adjective] sun rose in the [adjective] sky, casting its [adjective] light over the [adjective] land" openings, paradoxes of description, and also those shared armor game mechanics. Maybe you'll even laugh.





	Our Brave Heroes Unveil a Dastardly Felon

A hot, amber-clad sun swung high into the cerulean azure heavens, which glittered with the sapphire-studded patchwork of cloudless oxygen. The Grey Warden and his sulking, merry band skipped along the verdant meadows, limping aimlessly from the battle they'd nearly won, but hadn't quite lost. Lovely bardess Leliana had strung her bow into a makeshift harp, and her melodious voice squadulously resonated across the fertile wastelands, echoing off soaring cliffs along the sides of the stumpy hillocks they passed. The assassin Zevran grit his teeth and hummed along, meanwhile bandaging up his hemorrhaging finger that he'd pricked on a fence-post. Alistair, in armor that was simultaneously shiny, silver, battle-dented and blood bespattered, swung his mighty dragonbone blade at the tops of dandelions. Up ahead, the Circle Tower tapered up into the air, its tall pointed roof reached up, getting narrower at the top, aimed like a finger provoking and accusing the cerulean sky of some dastardly deed.

All of a sudden, with no warning whatsoever, catching the rest of the surprised party by surprise, Alistair stopped in his tracks, causing Anders the absent-minded mage to run right into him and clasp him around the waist in a manner that seemed accidental to Alistair, and which no bystander would ever actually mistake for accidental in a million years.

Leliana ceased her harmonious intonations. "Tell us, Alistair," she solicited in her melting Orlesian accent. "What has stayed thy feet and rooted them to the soil as the roots of a mighty Dalish tree?"

"I only wanted to check my inventory," fumed the great fighter, and his gorgeous blue eyes twinkled with rage. "And I have discovered that my favorite dragon-horn helm, the red one with the pair of silver wings, has gone missing."

"Odds fish!" cried the astounded mage, unable to control the blue flame that flickered and blasted from the end of his oaken staff. "Zounds! Just wait until the Grey Warden hears about this!"

The Grey Warden was a pillar of silence as of a mausoleum, as was always the case. He flipped through his dialogue options in his mind, found nothing there of relevance, and stilled his ever-stilled tongue.

Just then Zevran stepped forward and, despite the massive wound that saturated and imbued the cloth of his bandaged finger, grasped the Grey Warden's dark hood and pulled it back off his head, revealing a dragon-horn helm, a red one with a pair of silver wings. It was, Alistair realized after studying it for some time, the very likeness as to his own personal lost article of protection.

"Thief!" Cried Alistair, waving his arms as if to flag down an intercity cab, had he known what an intercity cab was. "Dastardly Felon! And he has led us forward without speaking these many weeks. How could such a crime have been forseen!"

"Haven't you noticed?" purred Zevran, stroking his injured arm as if it were Anders' cat. "It never matters what you and I win. He takes the best armor when we aren't looking, and keeps it until he finds something better."

The tawny ocher sun settled gradually onto the horizon, then leaped off the edge of the earth towards the unknown depths of space, and the Grey Warden hoped that it would reappear in the gloaming of dawn, as it always did, and that he would still respire long enough to gaze upon it.


End file.
